My Son
by evila-elf
Summary: Future-Matt and his new wife have a son. When he gets sick, how does his parents handle it?


Title: My Son  
  
Rating: (Kinda depressing) PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon, and I definitely don't own the song He's my Son by Mark Schultz.  
  
Notes: Another new fic by me! For those of you waiting for Saving Grace to get finished, I'm kinda stuck on it, so any suggestions are welcome on it, as well as with all of my fics.  
  
Enjoy!!  
  
  
Matt and his new wife, Lynda, had finally gotten what they had wanted upon getting married; a son. They had been so happy when they went in for an ultrasound to determine what sex it was.  
  
Two months after that, Lynda had gone into labor, but it was a whole month early! The baby boy had to stay in the hospital for an extra three months before he was allowed to come home. He was still very weak, but the new parents hadn't wanted him to stay there any longer.  
  
Three years after his birth, there were still minor problems with his body. He was finally starting to master the art of walking. The doctors, at his time of birth, had only given him less than a year to live, but he had out smarted them all.  
  
Now there was another hurtle to try to get over, he had a cold. To anyone else, it would have been a small annoyance, but to him it was life-threatening. It was 5 times worse than the flu for the small child.  
  
  
12:04am  
  
Matt rubbed his tired hands over his face and walked over to a window looking out upon the country scenery. He opened it up, feeling the cool night breeze blow gently in. He looked up at the sky, filled with billions of twinkling stars. Stiffly getting down on his knees, he looked back up at the sky and closed his eyes.  
  
*Down on my knees I pray tonight,  
Hoping this prayer will turn out right.  
There is a boy who needs your help,  
Done all that I can do myself.*  
  
Matt reopened his eyes and glared up at the happily shinning stars.  
  
*Can you hear me?  
Am I getting through tonight?  
Can you make him feel alright?  
You can hear me!  
Let me take his place somehow.  
He's not just anyone,  
He's my son*  
  
Matt looked over his shoulder to the room behind him. His boy was inside, asleep. Lynda was sitting in a chair next to him, her small hand gripping his even smaller one. Her other hand held a wash cloth that she kept on patting his forehead with.  
  
Matt turned back to the window and closed his eyes again.  
  
*His mother is tired,  
Sure you can understand.  
Each night as he sleeps,  
She goes in to hold his hand.  
She tries not to cry,  
As the tears fill in her eyes*  
  
Matt reopened his eyes and got to his feet. He turned and walked into the room. Lynda looked up at him with tired, teary eyes filled with hopelessness. They wordlessly switched spots so that she could get some sleep, though she probably would get none.  
  
Lynda left the room, Matt watching after her. He turned his gaze down to the small boy. He was sleeping, face red and covered in the sweat from his fever.  
  
Matt clenched his hands into fists.  
  
*Sometimes late at night I watch him sleep,  
I dream of the boy he'd like to be.  
I try to be strong and see him through,  
God, who he needs right now is you!*  
  
A small tear trickled its way down the desperate father's cheek.  
  
*Let him grow old,  
Live life without this fear.  
What would I be,  
Living without him here?  
He's so tired,  
And he's scared.  
Let him know that you're there...*  
  
He looked out the small window at the stars as he had earlier, stars in a sky that was lightening with the coming of dawn. He watery eyes grew hard.  
  
*Can you hear me?  
Am I getting through tonight?  
Can you make him feel alright?*  
  
Matt got up and walked over to that window.  
  
*You can hear me!  
Let me take his place somehow  
He's not just anyone....*  
  
Matt broke down in silent sobs.  
  
*Can you hear me?  
Can you see him?*  
  
He felt a gentle hand come to rest on his shoulder. Matt turned around and looked at his wife. They both hugged each other, both raked by their own crying.  
  
*Please don't leave him;  
He's my son...*  
  
  
  
Fin  



End file.
